


20 Questions

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Finished, Fluff, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Winston invents a lie detector, and Overwatch gleefully takes this chance to tease out information from resident goody-two-shoes Angela "Mercy" Ziegler.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The plot is basically one of Paul Jennings' short stories, called "Ex Poser". But I don't suppose anyone over the age of 10 who doesn't live in Australia has read the book, so I don't expect to be able to find a fandom tag for it, so I'm crediting it here. You know the rest of the drill. None of the characters belong to me, yada yada yada.

It’s 8pm on karaoke night, and you wouldn’t think that the Overwatch rec room could get any rowdier, but it does as the crowd bursts into a thunderous round of applause as Winston proudly strides in, carrying in his arms a large, vaguely cube-shaped object, covered with a large black cloth. What lesser men, or indeed, any man, would have fainted under the weight of, he effortlessly swings onto the table in the center of the room with a loud thump, amidst cheers from the assembled audience. Winston beams at his enthusiastic friends, and clears his throat.

 

“Friends!” he booms in his deep baritone. “For centuries, the mind has sought to understand itself, and failed. Though we possess the knowledge and technology that has laid low many a dreadful disease, and allow us to peer into the farthest reaches of space and the darkest depths of the oceans, we are still mystified by the greyish pink blob of matter inside our skulls that makes us who we are.” Realising his mistake, he casts a sheepish glance at the two Omnics standing off to the side, one floating, one beeping quietly. “A-and the machinery, as well. No offence, Zen, Bastion.”

 

“None taken,” Zenyatta says peacefully, calm as he always is, and Bastion beeps cheerfully, which Winston takes as a signal to continue. “But today, my friends, today we will take the first step into understanding our consciousness!” He pulls the black cloth off with a flourish. “Behold, the Lie Detector!”

 

The object seems to be a large, metallic, black box, with one green light and one red light atop it, as well as an entanglement of wires sprouting from it, their other ends attached to a thin metallic circlet. Amidst gasps of awe, Winston continues proudly, “Polygraphs of the past were dependent upon blood pressure, skin temperature, sweat concentration, all misleading markers that could be influenced by emotion. But my machine will chart the subject’s brain waves directly to determine if they speak the truth or tell a falsehood! Now, come, who will do the honour of testing it out?”

 

Nobody outright volunteers themselves, of course, but there is no shortage of nominations. “D.Va!!” “Reinhardt!” “Zenyatta!” “Turboyurn! Toblerone??” “It’s _Torbjorn_ , you idiot!! Why don’t _you_ go then, Lucio?!” Over the chatter, one voice drawls, low and clear, like the waves rolling over the sand on a hot summer’s day. It’s McCree, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Dr Ziegler. Dr. Ziegler should do it. She’s always such a good girl, but now we can find out if she’s got a _wild side_ an’ she won’t be able t’uh lie.”

 

The chatter soon turns from heated name-calling to an excited chorus of agreement. Seeing that the crowd has reached a consensus, Winston wastes no time in getting down to business. “Dr Ziegler it is! Please step up and take a seat.” The good doctor turns pink and jabs a grinning McCree in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “You are going to PAY for this.” McCree only smirks and escorts her to her seat, waving her into it with a flourish. Winston gently arranges the circlet on her head as she shifts around in the seat, getting herself comfortable. “Now,” Winston announces without looking up, “since this is only a prototype, it would be best to stick to yes/no questions, so the machine will not get confused if some details are authentic but others are being fudged. Also, I’ve outfitted it with the most powerful batteries I have, but charting the brain requires a lot of power. I estimate it will only be good for about 20 questions.” Winston finishes setting up, then kneels in front of Mercy so that he is eye-level with her. “You comfortable?” Mercy nods. “Alright then, time for a little test.” Winston rubs his hands together. He can’t wait to see his invention work. “Is your name Angela Ziegler.”

 

Mercy nods. “Aloud, please,” Winston clarifies. “The machine cannot register physical movements.”

 

“Yes.” Amidst the awed gasps of the crowd, the green light comes to life and glows steadily for several seconds as the machine pings once, twice, three times, before fading to dullness once again.

 

Winston smiles. “Perfect! The green light should light up when you tell the truth. Now tell a lie.” He glances at the cowboy smirking lazily off to the side. “Is your name Jesse McCree?”

 

Mercy laughs, glass wind chimes in the ocean breeze, a river bubbling to life as winter thaws into spring. “Yes.” _BLAAAAAT!!!_ The audience’s laughter is cut short by a cacophonic airhorn blare, accompanied by the angry glowing of the red light. Winston winces, but there is pleasure evident in his pained expression. “Yup, that’s what’s supposed to happen if you lie.” He turns to McCree, who is shaking his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears. “You have 18 questions left.”

 

It takes a few seconds for McCree to comprehend that Winston is addressing him. “Wha - me?! I gotta question….her?!” Winston shrugs. “You picked her. Seems you have something you wanna find out about her.” McCree turns questioningly to the crowd, who look expectantly back at him. Apparently they agree with Winston’s assessment. “Uh….okay, uh…” McCree nervously clears his throat, then turns back to face Mercy, who is giving him the most unamused look he’s ever seen cross her face, second only to the first time he met her, being patched up in her medbay after Gabriel’s “persuasion” to join Blackwatch.

 

“You, uh, ever done drugs?”

 

“No.” _Ping ping ping._

 

“Smoked?”

 

“No.” _Ping ping ping._

 

“Broke the speed limit?”

 

“No.” _Ping ping ping._

 

“Got drunk?” “No.” “Wrote crack fanfiction?” “No.” “Watched Fifty Shades?” “No.”

 

Each time, the light flashes green.

 

McCree licks his dry lips. He’s already wasted six questions, and gotten nothing on her at all. The shuffling and murmuring behind him tell him that the crowd is getting restless. In front of him, Mercy smiles serenely, as angelic as her name suggests. Her smile is mesmerising. He’d like it a lot better if she weren’t using it to silently mock him at the moment, but he guesses that’s a bit too much to ask. After all, being the snot-nosed, broken, bleeding career criminal whom she had to patch up following his “recruitment” into Blackwatch isn’t exactly the kind of first impression that would win him her favour. McCree wonders if any lucky person has had the privilege of having that smile directed at them.

 

Before he knows what he’s saying, McCree blurts out: “Dr Ziegler, did you ever, y’know, _like_ anyone? Like, _like_ like?”

 

The room erupts into barely concealed giggling at his childish question. McCree can hear Reinhardt trying to suppress a snort. Lucio is less subtle. “My God, McCree, that’s so grade-school! Could you be any more childish?!” But the giggles quickly fade into an electric silence as Mercy flushes as pink as D.Va’s MEKA. For the first time she cannot look up when she answers in a voice barely higher than a whisper.

 

“Yes.”

 

There is no airhorn blast from the machine. A second later, all hell breaks loose in the rec room. Reinhardt crushes a tankard in his fist in shock. D.Va and Lucio let out matching high pitched squeals and jump on the coffee table, screaming “DR. ZIEGLER IS IN LOOOOVE!! DR. ZIEGLER IS IN LOOOOOOVE!!” Tracer squeals and runs up to Mercy, stopping herself just in time when she remembers she’s still strapped to the machine. “I’m so happy for you, love! But you never said anything! Who is it?? Who is it?!?!”

 

“Please!” Winston roars above the crowd. “Yes or No questions only! The machine cannot cope with more than that.”

 

An expectant silence descends once again upon the assembled members of Overwatch. All eyes are on McCree, including Mercy’s - very - embarrassed - gaze. McCree shifts uncomfortably. This isn’t the kind of dirt he’d been planning to dig up, and he hates himself for making her uncomfortable. She’s probably going to do all his maintenance repairs without anaesthetic for a month now. He doesn’t even know why he said that. But he’s opened that can of worms now, and by the look on everyone’s faces they expect him to keep fishing until every last worm is used up.

 

McCree does some quick math in his head. Yes, he’s actually capable of that, thank you. _Winston used up 2 test questions, and I asked another 7. 11 questions left._ With luck, he can pussyfoot around the issue until all the questions are used up without forcing Dr Ziegler to reveal too much. McCree gives Mercy an apologetic glance, pleading with his eyes. _I’m so sorry. I’m gonna try and make it so that it won’t be too obvious. Please forgive me._ He clears his throat. “Is uh….is that person from Switzerland?” he asks, hoping to change the topic as quickly as possible. _If she says yes, then they’ll lose interest, and then I can go back to asking her if she ever smuggled illegal firearms._

 

No such luck. “No.”

 

_Well shoot._ McCree for the life of him can’t think of anywhere else she might’ve met someone who tickled her fancy. “Then...uh...are they from Overwatch?” _If she says no, at least we can rule out anyone here._

 

“Yes.” The answer is more of a breath than a whisper.

 

The rec room erupts into such chaos that Reinhardt has to resort to slamming a hole in the floor with his hammer to get everyone to quieten down. Finally everyone settles down, coughing amidst the flakes of plaster drifting in the air. But their silence does nothing at all to mask their excitement. All eyes are on McCree and Mercy. Tracer is bouncing lightly on the edge of her seat. Lucio and D.Va look fit to burst.

 

McCree swallows nervously. Dr Ziegler is so going to kill him after this. _It’s narrow, but not that narrow. 8 more questions. I can still make this work._ “Uh….is it a guy?” In the corner, Bastion lets out a low _doo-wee-oo_. “Uh, Bastion and Zenyatta count as guys.”

 

For a moment Mercy’s embarrassment is lost as she gives McCree an incredulous look. “Yes.” McCree raises an eyebrow as the machine confirms the veracity of her answer. “Really?” Mercy looks even more nonplussed. “What do you sound so surprised for?”

 

“Nothing! Nothing, I, ah, I just thought you hang around with Fareeha a lot, and uh….” Having evaded Mercy’s death glare only to catch Pharah’s, McCree quickly and wisely decides to drop the subject. “Never mind! Never mind. So it’s a dude.” McCree grasps wildly for categories that can include the widest number of people possible. “Is he in this room?”

 

Mercy suddenly finds something on the floor very interesting. “Yes.”

 

McCree’s gaze immediately rests on Genji. There’s been talk around the base about the ninja going to seek her out when he isn’t meditating with his mentor. Well, that’s not a bad choice, McCree thinks. He doesn’t get what she’s so embarrassed about. Still, he’ll try to spare her, if he can. “Is he, uh, is he Omnic? Sorry Bastion, Zenyatta.”

 

“No worries,” replies the monk tranquilly. _Doo-wee-oo_ , says Bastion. For her part, Mercy answers with a brief “No.”

 

As expected. _5 more questions._ He can’t ask about cybernetic enhancements, that would be too obvious. Still, what characteristics could Genji share with a large portion of the male members of Overwat -

 

“Ah, I got it. Does he have brown eyes?”

 

“No.”

 

McCree is confused. Genji has never removed his mask in his presence before, but he thought most Japanese people were supposed to have brown eyes, and judging by Hanzo, Genji certainly should. Well, they’re brothers after all, not twins. Perhaps Genji is an exception. “Does he have blue eyes?”

 

“No.”

 

Now McCree is even more confused. Then it hits him. They’ve all heard the story of the Shimada brothers. Perhaps whatever Hanzo did to Genji caused him to lose his eyes. “Does he, uh, still have eyes?” McCree shoots Genji an apologetic wince. _Sorry, pal._

 

But the ninja is shaking with laughter. So is everyone else. Mercy refrains, but allows an amused smile to cross her face. “Yes, of course.”

 

Well, with regards to Genji, that’s a relief, at least. But if she knows he has eyes, she must have seen them when she worked on him. Perhaps he’s been wearing the mask so long she’s forgotten? In any case, McCree can’t think of any other questions that wouldn’t outright confirm his suspicions, and he still has 2 questions left. _Sorry, Angela, I think your secret’s about to be revealed._ “Are his eyes even visible right now?”

 

But the answer is not what he expects. “Yes.”

 

McCree starts. “So it’s not - ?” He catches himself and cuts the question short just in time, but not before he’s cast a questioning look at Genji. The ninja nearly falls out of his seat with laughter when he catches the implication. “ME?!?! Oh my god, Yankee-san, if you see me going to the medbay more often, it’s because we’re running short on my original coolant, so I’m using a lousier version now, which runs out a lot faster, and needs topping up more often!” He raises a metallic hand to wipe an imaginary tear from where his eyes would be under his mask. “Oh my god, I haven’t heard anything so funny in my life.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Genji”, McCree grumbles at the still-chortling ninja. But if it isn’t Genji, who is it? McCree scrutinises everyone in the room one by one. Then he gives Winston an accusing look. “Your invention doesn’t work. I can’t see a single person in this room who doesn’t have blue or brown eyes.”

 

Winston stares back at him, the corner of his mouth twitching, almost as if he’s trying to suppress a grin. “We can.”

 

McCree doesn’t know why he feels so stupid. He hasn’t dragged the secret out of Angela yet, so why does she look even more embarrassed than before? And why is everyone else smirking at him and whispering amongst themselves, as if they’re sharing a joke he’s unaware of? Damn it, he never could fully understand any situation he couldn’t shoot his way out of. And he still has one question left and absolutely no idea what he should say.

 

“Is he an idiot?” McCree finally asks.

  
Mercy’s voice is so soft now that he almost fails to catch her answer. “Yes.” Then she looks up at him. “And he has amber eyes.”


End file.
